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WHAT’S IN A NAME? (Sreedevi Krishnan)

Published on 13 June, 2020
WHAT’S IN A NAME? (Sreedevi Krishnan)
I have a strong suspicion that William Shakespeare did not like his name (Who would’ve liked to be called   ‘William’ rhyming with ‘Villain’ or Shake ‘Spear’ anyway?) That’s why he declared, ‘What’s in a name, a rose by   any other   name   would smell as sweet?” In fact, names are so valuable that we live our entire lives with the names given to us by our parents. Is it not terribly unfortunate that we have absolutely no say in this matter and are helpless victims of our parents’   affection, imagination and even hero worship?

We often come across an ugly Sundari, squint- eyed Meenakshi and a compulsive liar Satyan. I had students with exceptional names like Abraham Lincoln, Subhash Chandra Bose, Shelley and glamorous names like Sabna Azmi (poor girl in tears, confessed that her dad happened to be an ardent fan of Sabna Azmi, (but why on earth this Azmi bit?) Nutan and Hema Malini? My neighbor’s   rarely sober watch- man is not just Gandhi but Mahatma Gandhi. I certainly do not agree with Dale Carnegie who emphatically advises in his “How to win friends and influence them” to keep calling a person by name, as everyone falls in love with his name. When I  was young,  I quarreled with my mother  for   naming me ‘Sree Devi’ as  my  friends   were  all  named after the then reigning queens of Hollywood: Shirley, Elizabeth  and Sophia. Ironically, now I do not like my name as it is associated with a once most glamorous Bollywood Actress.   Whenever I reveal my name, I do detect a veneer of amusement in the eyes of the listener as to how an unimpressive looking, old lady could be a glamorous superstar? The only time  my name  had a magical  effect  and dispelled all  the gloom  from my mind was, when I boarded my flight from New York   on  the first week of October, after  9/11. The tightened security at the JFK airport  with  the gun totting  cops everywhere,, ban on visitors inside the airport,  and a thorough checking of  my  hand baggage  etc  made me  a bundle of nerves.   Then, just before  boarding my flight, this young, smart, white man    looked at my passport and then my face alternately for long, and finally, drawled, ‘Shree daivee, hmmmmm, where’s your Bonnie Kaapooor ?   Have a nice flight Shree Daiveee’ I laughed as all my fears vanished, and I felt extremely relaxed.

Apart from the parents’ chosen names, India Navy has its own way of shortening  names, making the most  macho men ‘Nari’, ‘Susie’ etc.  As there were three Krishnans, Venkata Thathachari Krishnan, Gopala Krishnan, and Ashok Krishnan in a Batch, Venkata Thathachari Krishnan   became ‘Thatha’ meaning ‘Grand father’ in Tamil. The logic of shortening the middle name of my husband is beyond my comprehension, but he proudly proclaims even today, he was ‘Thatha’ at the age of 18.  But the confusion created by their common name ‘Krishnan’, when the three  were  sub- lieutenants under training on board  INS Delhi,  was simply unforgettable.

When INS Delhi reached the shores of Madras  with  4 Krishnans, Captain Krishnan,  the Commanding officer (later Vice Admiral Krishnan, who took surrender from General Niazi of the then East Pakistan)  and 3 sub lieutenants, Venkata Thathachari Krishnan, Gopala Krishnan, and Ashok Krishnan,  the young Krishnans were extremely happy and delighted , hardly realizing  what Madras  had in store for them. On the very first day of their arrival, they went around visiting friends and relatives.  After a couple of days, an enthusiastic Captain Krishnan invited   the then famous danseuse Padmini Priya Darshini to give a dance performance on board his ship on the following day.

With feverish excitement, the crew bedecked the ship for the grand performance.  Capt. Krishnan took a personal interest even in the minutest details of the arrangements and ensured everything was perfect. Although the dance performance was at 6 p.m., invitees started pouring in from 5 pm onwards.   But, the much awaited danseuse failed to show up even after 6.45. Capt. Krishnan, as was his wont paced up and down the Quarterdeck with anxiety writ large on his face. Then, to everyone’s immense relief   the telephone rang and a female voice asked for Capt. Krishnan.

To the authoritarian, baritone of, “Hello, Capt. Krishnan here,’ the voice on the other end cooed, “Krish, this’s Mala, Malathi.  I know you don’t keep your promise, but when are you going to take me to your ship? You’re a busy Captain and have no time for me now…” Before she could go on in this vein, a furious Captain Krishnan banged the phone and called his First Lieutenant and thundered, “Find out how many Krishnans on board are going around boasting as ‘Captain Krishnan’ to their girl friends?”

 The First Lieutenant, Lt. Commander Nadkarni (later Admiral and the Chief of Naval Staff) took prompt action and confined the three Krishnans to the ship and cancelled their liberty to go ashore in Madras.  To rub salt into the wounds of the three young men, the first Lieutenant ordered them to ‘holy stone’ the quarter deck to a brilliant shine. In warships, the quarter deck is considered holy, and its wooden deck is polished with a rectangular- shaped, Bible-sized stone, called ‘holy stone.’ Ha, ha, ‘sacred’ Quarter deck and ‘holy’ stone (what’s in a name. indeed?)

While Gopala Krishnan and Ashok Krishnan suffered in silence, Venkata Thathachari Krishnan thanked his stars as this helped him to ward off the advances of Malathi.
Years later, ‘Thatha’ graduated to a Captain and father of two school going kids, kept  his  date  with  Malathi, a mother of three without her old charm and showed  her around his ship, but that is not germane to the point.

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